


Ama Noral'arkhana

by seikaitsukimizu



Series: Anecdotes After Argus [2]
Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Arcanomaster, Astralmancer, Dalaran, Felo'melorn, Gen, Legionterror, Shal'dorei, Sin'dorei, Suramar, Warlocks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-01
Updated: 2018-09-01
Packaged: 2019-07-05 08:12:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15859707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seikaitsukimizu/pseuds/seikaitsukimizu
Summary: Acolyte Alarissa Medrel has is seeking a sin'dorei warlock in the hopes they can forge a weapon worthy of Suramar's new alliance with Silvermoon. Little does she know this symbolic gesture will not just help unite their people, but may heal some old wounds as well.  Assuming it doesn't end in disaster, of course.





	Ama Noral'arkhana

Not many traversed the lower level of the Sanctum of Order, save perhaps a few who watched the enchanted ferries carry valuable goods. There were too many bad memories, of political prisoners, of hiding from demons. Even now, despite the regime change, there were those that had not recanted Elisande’s ways, hadn’t forsaken their loyalty to the Legion, who stood in magic cages guarded by both the First Arcanists’ personal guards and some Horde members. 

Alarissa Medrel avoided looking in that direction. She could have easily been one of them, might still be if it weren’t for the mercy of the First Arcanist. And rather than hide from the eyes of her judge, she had brought attention not just of the leader of the shal’dorei, but also of the sin’dorei. If she messed up, if she failed…  No, no they wouldn’t imprison her, but there would be questions, there would be an  _ inquest. _

Lady Liadrin, before she left, had at least offered her some hope.  _ “You should talk to Rashnu Sunblood. He may be able to help you.” _

Why the sin’dorei had chosen  _ here _ , near prisoners and uncomfortable reminders of the rebellion, she wasn’t sure. At least, she wasn’t until she saw a group of shal’dorei... _ leeching _ life away from a felborne shal’dorei. The man was armorless, bound in fel chains and hurling threatening epithets to the group as dark energy transformed into green lines infusing the shal’dorei with strength, bruises and cuts healing themselves as the man withered--no, not  _ withered _ , but...desiccated and writhed until he was nothing but a husk of skin and bones lying on the ground. There was nary a breath from his chest and then he burst into green flame. 

She jerked back at the eruption and finally she noticed the sin’dorei she could only assume was Rashnu. His eyes glowed green with fel, but somehow not emanating rage like the felborne that had just died. His blond hair was short, spiked back, and it was wreathed by flames sprouting from a gem floating above his head. He wore the old golden and teal outfit of the Azuna royalty, and was wielding a staff she had never seen before with a flaming sphere on top. 

If he’d noticed her, he didn’t acknowledge it. “Though effective in a group, in general that spell is not very efficient except against weakened enemies. Use it to keep yourself alive in battle, but don’t rely on it. It’s easy for others to disrupt.”

“Do they always sound so pained,” one of the shal’dorei, a young man, asked. 

“You’re draining their life from them. Of course it’s painful. So is burning them, or cursing them, or even sending demons against them.” He moved so he was standing in front of the group, on the ashes of the felborne that was now gone. “You’re training to be a  _ warlock. _ This is a class of anger and wrath. Never  _ ever _ forget that you are using the power of our enemies to strike back. Against everything.”

“But how, I mean,” the same man--boy, she realized, probably no more than a hundred years old, “that felborne, he succumbed to the power.”

“And if you ever do, the Black Harvest will do to you what we just did to him.” He crossed his arms and the staff hovered ominously beside him. “Warlocks must balance our desire for power and need for revenge against the will of the most insidious enemy in existence. Every day is a fight not to give in. Ours is the  _ fast _ way to power, but if you’re weak, if you surrender to the fel…” 

The staff slamming on the ground surprised everyone except Rashnu, “You’re dead. By my hands, by theirs,” he nodded to the boy’s classmates. “If you’re not sure, leave now. The Arcanists can have you casting fire spells within a decade.” The boy seemed to shudder, but nodded firmly. 

The sin’dorei eyed them all, then grabbed his staff just below four short metal spikes that spun around and sparked as the metal turned burning red. “Study the scrolls I’ve given you. When we next meet I’ll teach you to summon an imp. If you fail to control it you’re out.”

It took another few minutes for the group to disband, a few, including the boy, looking towards Rashnu’s feet, at the ashes of what once was a fellow shal’dorei. A warning. A lesson. Alarissa could admire the message, even if it was a little disturbing. Her last mentor was much the same way, after all. She straightened when he finally turned towards her, her arcane tattoos shimmering along her arms. 

“I’m not taking on any more apprentices.” His eyes narrowed briefly. “Even if you have been dabbling in the fel.”

“Good thing I’m not here to join, then. I’m here to ask your help.”

“I won’t help you bind a demon to experiment or unleash, either.”

“Do you assume everyone associated with the fel is involved with demons?”

“Well you’re certainly not dramatic enough to be one of the demon hunters, what else is there?”

She vaguely recalled demon hunters.  _ Illidari. _ Something about the Legion wanting to use one as a host. “I’m Celestial Acolyte Alarissa Medrel.”

He looked up briefly. “Right. One of the ones serving the Star Auger. He used the fel along with ice magic. And something else.”

“The void. And no,” she held up her hands, “I don’t want to follow in his footsteps. He taught us of fel magics, but I wasn’t particularly good at it.”

“Hmm. So what do you want with me?”

“As one of the last astromancers, I have been granted access to the stellar observatory. I need your help with a job the First Arcanist has given me.”

Both of his eyebrows raised. “My help. The First Arcanist recommended me?”

“Lady Liadrin, actually.”

The face he made at that was complicated, surprise, conflict, pride, and finally a rather firm sense of determination. “What do you need me for?”

“I’d rather discuss it in private, if you’ll follow me?” With a nod, he fell into step beside her and she led him away from Sanctum of Order, the last of the ashes wiped away by the city’s magics.

* * *

She was used to the lower level of the stellar observatory being crowded with fellow acolytes, with mentors, with arcane minions. Now there was only the occasional shadescale wyrm that sought shelter from the strangers walking the courtyard or that got annoyed at the sun. There was one there now, but with a whisper of arcane power she coerced it back out towards the gardens. 

Her companion, meanwhile, was looking around. He made an inarticulate noise, something that, to Alarissa’s ears at least, was approval. “I’ll have to suggest this enchantment for our city inns. Give them a little magical decoration.”

“I believe it was woven into the walls, but I know where to find the details.” She led him towards the stairs. “You didn’t make it this far during the insurrection?”

“I helped hold the courtyard.  Nothing quite as satisfying as binding infernals and turning them against their summoners.”

“That sounds a little vindictive.”

“I’m a warlock. We’re a vicious, vengeful lot. Especially against those that surrender to the Legion.”

She was silent for a moment, her hand tracing the star-decorated wall absently. “Some of us didn’t have a choice,” she said firmly. “As a lowly acolyte-”

“There’s a difference between following in fear and delving into the demonic embrace willingly. We  _ are  _ able to appreciate that distinction.” She heard his steps stop. “Besides, as one of the last astromancers, you’re not an acolyte anymore.”

She stopped just before the doorway into the observatory and turned around. “No, I suppose I’m not.”

“So,  _ Astromancer _ Alarissa, where were you during the insurrection?” 

She tilted her chin up. “The stellar archives. When the Legion returned the Star Auger sought visions to aid the Grand Magistrix. First Arcanist Thalyssra, however, ordered the astromancers to seek any knowledge from ten-thousand years ago that might aid us. As the...least successful acolyte, the task was given to me and,” she shrugged one shoulder, “never rescinded.”

“Find anything interesting?”

“Plenty. Nothing to fight the Legion, but I’ve made some of our historians--and now yours--very happy.” She reached back to trace the arch of the doorway. “That is, until the First Arcanist made a specific request and...well…”

“Now you need my help.”

She nodded, took a deep breath, then turned and walked into the observatory. It was currently closed and the blank white walls gave an eerie sterility to the place, especially given the bloodshed that had happened here not too long ago. She stepped to the side and waited for the warlock to follow. 

Without hesitation he entered behind her and immediately gasped, actually dropping his staff. It wobbled for a moment before hovering on its own. “That’s  _ Felo’melorn!” _ He stepped forward, hand outstretched before he caught himself and his fingers curled away from the hilt just before touching it. He stared another minute, then whirled around, short cape fluttering briefly as gem shards of red flame suddenly manifested above his head. “What are you doing with the  _ Prince’s blade _ ?!”

There was both awe and a level of threat in his voice, but she wasn’t intimidated. Not after facing down her own leader. “The Lord Regent-”

“Lor’themar.”

“Yes. He brought it to the First Arcanist. In honor of our new alliance, he requested that it be reforged by shal’dorei hands.”

“Reforged-” He jerked back, craning his head over his shoulder. Eventually the rest of his body followed and he stepped closer until his nose was only inches from the blade. 

She knew it looked fine at first glance, floating in the middle of the room like a prized possession. She also knew he would discover what she had, that the blade had fractures, not enough to break it, but enough to make it brittle, ineffective. Worse, whatever power it had once held had been burned out. Neither the Regent Lord nor First Arcanist was clear on how that had happened, but it didn’t matter. 

It was useless as both a weapon and a conduit of magic. 

Finally Rashnu took a step back and the strange shards above his head dissipated to merge into the flames of his crown. “This shouldn’t be possible,” he whispered loudly, his voice torn. “Nothing should be able to douse the flames of the phoenix.”

“Something did,” she answered, and he turned back around, though his gaze stayed locked on the weapon just a little longer before resettling on her. “Many of our blacksmiths had either joined the Grand Magistrix or were put to the blade. And a job such as this requires more than just the usual hammer and anvil.”

He stared at her, unblinking for a long moment, before he said slowly, “You found something in the archives.”

She nodded and indicated the set of scrolls hovering at the edge of the room. “Long ago, our arcanosmiths and astromancers created an ethereal spellblade as a gift for Queen Azshara. She was, supposedly, impressed enough to give it to one of her consorts. Obviously, when the world sundered…”  
He huffed at that. “Long lost, if not destroyed.” He approached the floating scrolls and appeared to be reading through them. “So this stellar design, you want to use it to reforge Felo’melorn.”

“A sin’dorei blade and shal’dorei design. What better symbol of unity between our people?”

“Mmm,” he hummed, arms crossing as he seemed to reread the scrolls. 

She glanced at his staff as the spikes spun fast enough to give off heat sparks once more. “I have to confess,” she said as the spikes slowed to a stop again, “I’m not sure why Lady Liadrin directed me to you.”

At that, the smirk returned. “Because when I’m not fighting the Legion and terrorizing a new set of warlocks, I’ve created weapons for the Black Harvest.”

“Weapons?”

“Magical more than physical.” He turned away from the scrolls to face her. “When the Legion appeared, I led an elite team that summoned the Lieutenants, Captains, and whatever high ranking demons we could to slay on  _ our _ turf. I would strip whatever weapons or materials they had upon their demise and remake them into items our council members could use. Not as great as the Netherlord of our order or the Council members, but powerful enough for my weapons to be known and feared by demons.”

Alarissa glanced at the hovering staff. “So this…”

“The last weapon I forged. Over the course of this invasion I and my weapons gained notoriety for striking fear into demons.” He waved at it. “Its shape is in honor of the Staff of Sargeras, that gem was even made by a pit lord in a similar fashion. Nowhere near as powerful, but enough to make lesser demons obey. The runes are demonic for...well, the best translation is  _ Legionterror. _ And its adept both at spellcasting as well as being used as a weapon.”

He waved, inviting her to bring the staff in question over. With just a touch of hesitation, she nudged it beneath the bulge of spikes midway down and guided it towards its owner. There was a moment of dissonant whispers that seemed to come from the contact. “How’d you contain the power,” she asked absently.

“The Isle’s leystone and felslate were perfect to channel the destructive fel energies. Some elementium to help diffuse the excessive heat that the gem continually generates--hence the spikes. A fel-tainted moonwell to quench it all while casting. And to enhance the aura of menace and fear, just a thin filament of saronite.”

That element she didn’t recognize. “Saronite?”

“The blood of an Old God.”

Her hand jerked back just she reached the warlock and he calmly took it from her recoiling hand. “But the Old Gods-”

“Compared to the temptations of the demons, the whispers are nothing.” He gave her a look with a raised eyebrow. “If I were weak-willed enough to be felled by a wisp of saronite, I would have been consumed by the fel years ago.”

“Still-”

“The Council of the Black Harvest approved. I’m fairly certain Ritsssyn was even jealous.” He pulled the staff to his side and turned his attention back to the hovering sword. “And while Lady Liadrin may not... _ approve _ of my use of fel, she is certainly aware of my skills as a magical weaponsmith.”

Alarissa bit back her further protests and had to admit, if the weapons the warlock created were powerful enough to frighten the Legion the paladin was right in directing her to him. Still, she couldn’t help but voice, “You seem hesitant about it.”

“It’s the  _ Flamestrike _ ,” he reiterated. “I’m not of royal blood, I’m a powerful warlock but no archmage. I may have some skill but,” he reached out towards the hilt, only to stop once again from touching it, “this is a blade of  _ legend _ . I’m not sure I can do any attempts at reforging justice.”

That, at least, she could understand. “I’m merely an acolyte.” His mouth curled down at that. “No, I suppose not  _ now _ , technically, but centuries of study and I was still a lowly acolyte. Who can channel and cast some spells. Who has no experience doing so to...forge a weapon.”

His hand dropped at that with a gruff laugh. “I guess neither of us are exactly right for this job, but we’re both stuck with it now.” His gaze dropped to the floor. 

Alarissa examined the dulled blade. The wings of the phoenix along the shaft of the blade were the most damaged. The blade itself between the wings and above the bird’s head was a dull black, looking more like obsidian than any metal. There were chips along the curved edge of the blade. The hilt looked worn and, somehow,  _ tired. _ A blade exhausted and extinguished. 

Rashnu suddenly took a deep breath and straightened up. “Well, Sunblood’s have never declined a challenge.” He looked the blade up and down once more, then turned his full attention to the hovering scrolls. “How about Medrel’s?”

“I wouldn’t be here if we did,” she responded, stepping up next to him. “What do we do first?”

“Laugh at our impossible task, then figure out what we can substitute for ten-thousand year old components.”

And because it wasn’t a bad suggestion a laugh did escape from her. He joined her seconds later, and then they grinned at each other and got down to work. 

* * *

Lady Liadrin was right about the warlock being useful, at the very least for his connections through the Horde. “One of the hammers from Skyhold should work. They’re designed for stormforging, creating eternal semi-ethereal blades. I know a warrior who can sneak one out.” And later, after they shared a bottle of Silvermoon Port, he pointed to the hexagonal outline of a forge. “The manacrystals from the Blue Dragonflight in Azuna could channel arcane fire to smelt and infuse. Not sure how we’d get it, but that’s our best bet.” 

Then, after sunset and the observatory opened automatically to reflect the night sky and they both admired the view for a bit, he mentioned thoughtfully, “I know a shaman owed a favor by the Cenarion Circle. They can get us some water from the Well of Eternity in Hyjal. That should purify any lingering...whatever that may have contaminated the blade.”

“The Well still exists,” she couldn’t help but ask. She thought it was destroyed along with Zin-Azshari when the world sundered all that time ago.

He blinked, then slowly sat down. “No, no it doesn’t. It,” he thought for a moment, “an...ally took vials from the original Well of Eternity. When the world sundered, he went to the sacred grove in Mount Hyjal and used some of them to create a lake of arcane water. It was purified by the druids and became...well, a font of holy power.”

She turned her attention to the scrolls and ran her finger over the instructions. “So this bit, quenching the blade with waters from the Well of Eternity, we can do that?”

He shook his head. “The new Well doesn’t have the arcane or Titanic essence of the original.” He crossed his arms, chin lowered to his chest as his eyes closed. “However,” he said after a minute of thought, “I can petition Rommath for a few drops of the Sunwell, and the First Arcanist for some essence of the Nightwell. Combined with the waters from Hyjal...that might-- _ might _ \--simulate the original arcane font. Briefly.”

“How briefly?”

He shrugged. “It’s theory from my own work. They’ll combine and stabilize, but long enough to quench the blade? We might have to do it very quickly.”

“Sounds like a long shot.”

“This entire attempt is a long shot. We don’t even know what an ‘anvil made from the eternities of beyond’ is,” he complained. 

She frowned at that. “In Azuna, the Prince and his people, they were all cursed to be ghosts, right?”

“Poor bastards. Azshara, now  _ there _ was a vindictive queen.” There was both disgust and just the barest hint of admiration in his tone. 

She ignored the latter and instead continued on her thought process. “They’re still making weapons, though, right? Forging them and they can affect the living?”

He reached up to rub at his chin. “From all reports, yeah.”

“Well, an anvil made of the eternities from--it’s an ethereal anvil. And their anvils are ethereal.”

He stared at he, the hand on his chin stopped as he processed her words. “That,” he stopped, closed his mouth. Opened it again. Closed it. 

“The entire attempt is a longshot using impossible materials from an eternity ago,” she replied with arch smugness.

He snorted, snapped his fingers and pointed at her. “I can’t argue with that sound logic.” He lowered his arms and leaned back to examine the sky. “What about this part,” he waved upwards. 

She looked up as well and raised her hands. Arcane sigils wrapped around her fingers and, with a few twists and hushed words, she rewound the night sky to 10,000 years ago. With a zig-zag of her middle and pinky finger and flick of her wrist, the stars of the sacred constellation connected and enlarged with a purple hue. Another rush of words and the sky returned to its current configuration. The constellation was almost out of alignment, but it was there, just on the horizon of the world.

When she turned her attention back to Rashnu, he was looking at her with, after a minute’s thought, she finally determined was admiration and, maybe, a touch of awe. She raised one eyebrow and he actually ducked his head. 

It was a long few moments before he said quietly, “Before the Scourge came, before my family was struck down and I only knew anger and revenge, I was on the path to study with Astromancer Capernian herself, one of the Prince’s personal advisors.”

Alarissa blinked at the confession. “You were an acolyte like me?”

The laugh that elicited was bitter. “Like you? No, I was  _ nothing _ like you.” He spread his arms. “ _ We _ are nothing like you! Astromancer Capernian was one of the best! And she--you turned the stars back  _ ten-thousand years! _ In a few heartbeats! She--she was still just mapping the night sky!”

It took her a few minutes to parse out his meaning. “Your...astromancy-”

“Even before the Scourge came, we had--we’d  _ lost _ what you did as if it was, was  _ nothing _ .”

It had taken her two hundred years to master this ‘nothing,’ but that was beside the point. This wasn’t just a bitter confession, this was...was proof that this alliance was more than just the sin’dorei helping the shal’dorei into the modern world. Yes, the sin’dorei were helping them acclimate, but they could return their efforts with knowledge, of lost arcane arts that were only held within the walls of this city. 

She knew, abstractly, the reforging of this blade was symbolic of their new alliance. Now, though, now she  _ understood _ that this effort, this  _ union _ between them was equal, not just the sin’dorei feeling pity for their ancient cousins. 

And with that revelation came the sudden confidence that she could do this. She  _ could. _ She wasn’t just some acolyte. She was an astromancer, one of the last  _ true _ astromancers. And she’d be damned if they didn’t reforge this blade. With their combined knowledge and skill it wasn’t impossible. It  _ wasn’t! _

“Once this blade is reforged,” she finally said, snagging his attention from his self-recriminations, “I’ll make sure that knowledge is returned to your people.”

He shook his head, not in disbelief but as if clearing his head. “You will, huh?” 

“You’re teaching your ways to us,” she replied, “it’s only fair I bring our ways to you.”

He met her look directly, and with that eye contact she could swear she saw something, a flash of hope, of wishes long gone, of longing and satisfaction all mixed in that emerald gaze. Finally, he offered her a smirk, a firm nod, and said, “You know, I think I know how to forge this blade.”

* * *

They slept there, beneath the magical vision of stars with the legendary sword dangling above them. The next morning, after the observatory had closed up, Rashnu had left, sending out his requests across the Horde. The stormforging hammer, a ghost forge, waters and essences from wells of power. She had no clue how he’d gain the crystals from the blue dragonflight, but maybe that was a problem they’d tackle this afternoon. 

They didn’t, though. Instead he led her from the observatory to the flight path overlooking the sea. There he summoned two steeds, one of fire and one of fel. He offered her the reins to the one of fire, and once she was settled they took off, galloping over the air towards the great floating city of Dalaran. She’d stared at the city a few times since the city shield had been lowered. She could see the elven influence in its architecture, even if it was ultimately a human city.

Why they were going there, she could hardly fathom. She knew it was crucial to the war against the Legion, that it had been some sort of war machine and primary base for both the Alliance and the Horde.  With the Legion gone, though, she didn’t know its purpose in remaining in their skies. 

They landed on a damaged circular platform eventually. They’d had to wait, hovering in midair as a sin’dorei seemed to direct the traffic coming through. There were flights from eagles on one side and ghost wolves emerging from a portal across the way. It was nearly an hour she estimated before they were given permission to land. And that’s when she realized, it wasn’t a sin’dorei. No fel in his eyes, no aura of mana addiction. This...this was a quel’dorei. 

She knew quel’dorei had been part of the march on the city, but they’d all but vanished as soon as the Grand Magistrix had been deposed. She had no idea why. Even the kaldorei had stayed around longer, helping stabilize some of the arcane plants before retreating. As their steeds vanished into greenish whirling portals she quietly asked Rashnu about their absence.

“There’s not that many left in the world,” he answered back just as quietly, leading her through a rotunda stairwell into the city proper. “Most of their military forces were trapped by Elisande in her time trap. Once released they realized the fight was over and returned here.”

“Didn’t they care about Suramar?”

“It’s not their home,” he answered succinctly. “They were willing to stand united, but they’re loathe to lose any more.”

“Why don’t they just return to Silvermoon? Rejoin their people?”

Rashnu stopped at that. They were at the corner of cobblestone streets, bustling activity of all sorts, humans, orcs, tauren...everything. It looked like a mass evacuation. A retreat from the war effort, she realized. They were all returning home using Dalaran as a waystation. 

When they hadn’t moved for a few minutes, she returned her attention to Rashnu. He was staring off in the distance at nothing in particular she could see. She nudged him with her elbow. “Sunblood.”

He snapped out of his fugue and blinked at her. “It’s...a long story. I’ll explain another time.” He looked around and finally nodded. He led her west and into a tower, which held a curtained room with a bench and a pillow. He ignored them both and leaned against the wall, holding his staff--Legionterror--before him and staring into its flaming gem. 

Alarissa chose to stand as well, glancing around. It was a bare room, but she could feel magic energies running through the walls. She traced her palm over the nearest one and with a little push determined it was a privacy spell. Anyone could see who walked in, but what was spoken of couldn’t be overheard or scryed upon. Given how precious Felo’melorn was, she could understand Rashnu’s caution. But she also sensed, from the way he was tightly holding his weapon, there was more to it than that. 

The blue curtain was brushed aside and in stepped another sin--no, quel’dorei by the teal color of his eyes. His long blond hair fell over his shoulders onto his chest, and he wore both chainmail and leather, with a purse on his belt. Some sort of tradesman, perhaps. He wasn’t holding a weapon, but his shoulders were tense and the hand holding the curtain back was fisted, knuckles white. 

Perhaps he’d come to the wrong room? 

Except Rashnu looked up then. “Vridiel.” His voice was deliberately neutral. 

“Rashnu.” The man, Vridiel, replied in an equal tone. He dropped the curtain behind him and crossed his arms. “I got your message. It’s not often the Sunreavers offer a favor.”

“Aethas owed me.”

“You thought you needed to bribe me to speak with you.”

“Would you have if I’d just shown up in your shop?”

Vridiel’s jaw moved back and forth briefly. “Possibly.”

Alarissa looked between the two. “Do you need me to leave?”

Vridiel flinched, as if he hadn’t noticed her. Rashnu looked up briefly, then dipped his head in apology. “Astromancer Alarissa, Arcanomancer Vridiel....Sunblood.”

She stared at the warlock for a long, hard moment, then slowly turned to the arcanomancer. “A...pleasure...to meet Rashnu’s…?”

“Cousin,” he said forcefully. “And I don’t use that name anymore.”

There was a controlled sigh that emanated from Rashnu’s nose. “Of course.”

“And an honor to meet a shal’dorei.” He tipped his head briefly. “Though I’m not sure why we’re meeting.”

“Because,” Rashnu started, stopped, took a deep breath, “because you’re the best arcanomancer, best  _ swordsmith,  _ I know.”

And even Alarissa could tell how much it cost the warlock to admit that. Vridiel’s face was torn between pride and an awkward wince, as if he didn’t want such praise from family. Except they weren’t family, didn’t Vridiel just say that?  _ I don’t use that name anymore. _ “So you trust him with this?”

“More than anyone else.” Again, that anguished honesty. 

Alarissa nodded, then turned her full attention to Vridiel. “Arcanomancer, I,” she considered her words, “humbly request your assistance in the reforging of an elven blade.”

Vridiel blinked at her, glanced at Rashnu whose gaze had turned to the floor, then gave her a slow nod. “I can certainly attempt to. Do you have the blade here-”

“It’s Felo’melorn,” Rashnu interrupted.

Air hissed through Vridiel’s teeth. “It’s broken?” There was a note of offence in his tone. “I held that blade. An archmage had recovered it, was using it--it was  _ perfect. _ ” The word held the same reverence that Rashnu’s had when he had spoke of the blade. “What happened?”

Alarissa was about to answer that she didn’t know, when Rashnu against interjected with, “It was damaged drawing the energies from the Titansword.”

That...that was news to her. What was a Titansword? And why did Vridiel, upon hearing that, looked shocked. 

“Is it even safe to touch?”  
“It’s nothing but a blade,” Rashnu replied gravely.

At that Vridiel looked downright heartbroken.

Deciding to interrogate the warlock later about this Titansword, she said confidently, “The shal’dorei have been asked to reforge it, in honor of our alliance with the sin’dorei. I, we,” she tilted her head towards Rashnu, “are using an ancient formula. We have most of the components, but neither of us are sure we can...forge such a weapon.”

“I...in a hundred lifetimes, I would not be worthy-”

“If I’m understanding this meeting,” she interrupted, “your cousin has broken years of resentment and silence because he feels you  _ are _ worthy. The  _ only one _ worthy.” That shut him up, and the blacksmith exchanged a long look with the warlock. She could almost hear the silent conversation between the twitching eyebrows and slight shift of their shoulders. 

Lifting his chin up, the arcanomancer finally said, “What sort of formula are you using to reforge the Prince’s blade?”

“Astromancy, an amalgam of essences to mimic the original Well of Eternity, a ghostly anvil and stormforge hammer.” She nodded to the warlock. “He thinks the arcane crystal guarded by the Blue Dragonflight might make an excellent arcane forge.”

“They would.” Vridiel tilted his head towards...something. “I know someone who can get some for us to borrow. Though I’m not sure where in Dalaran we could put them…”

“We’re set up in the observatory in Suramar.”

Vridiel hesitated. “Would I be welcome, in a city of the Horde?”

“I’ll guarantee your safe passage,” Rashnu said firmly. 

Vridiel thought it over. “I think this could work. Do you have the plans?”

“No. They’re...well, old. And designed to not be copied.”

“How about I get the materials for the forge, we get set up and I can look over the plans?”

“Sounds good to me.” 

“Then I’ll see you in...two days? I think that’s how long it’ll take.”

Rashnu tucked a hand into his robes and brought out a small stone glowing with fel energy. “You can use this to contact me, when you’re ready to come to Suramar.”

Vridiel slowly took the green stone. He slipped it into the pouch on his belt. “I’ll see you in a couple days then.”

“A couple days,” Alarissa confirmed.

Vridiel touched the curtain but didn’t open it. After a minute he said, “It  _ is _ good to see you.”

Rashnu, now staring at his staff, quirked a sad smile. “You too.”

Another awkward, almost tense silence followed, and then Vridiel quietly left the room, the curtain swishing behind him. 

* * *

Alarissa thought she showed great restraint, waiting until they went through Dalaran, had flown back to Suramar, and were just entering the observatory building before she grabbed the warlock by his robe and shook him with a stern, “Explain.  _ Now. _ ”

He waited until she let go before smoothing out his robes and, rather than heading upstairs, fell into one of the chairs in the main study hall. “It’s...a long-”

“Story. Well, you dragged me into its coda, so talk.” She stood before him, arms crossed. 

Rashnu set his staff aside to float on its own and he slid back into the seat’s cushions. His gaze was not on her, but on the table centerpiece that projected a star system above it. He poked one of the planet illusions, then rested his hand on the table. “We were all quel’dorei, once. And we are-- _ were _ \--cousins by blood. The way we grew up, though, it was more like brothers.”

He finally looked up to her. “There were three of us. Me, Vridiel, and Ariiya. Vridiel...he was the oldest. He led us, he taught us. Ariiya was like our sister. She’s out, somewhere,” he waved, “one of rogues that helped fight the Legion on Draenor. But Vridiel...he and I were close. He always wanted to be an arcanomancer, a smith. He taught me some things after he became an apprentice.”

“And you continued it, later,” she said.

A crooked grin. “I had the skills, and it was...nice, to create things again.” The grin vanished a second later. “We’re all that’s left of our family. The Scourge came and we...we survived, somehow. Ariiya and I, we embraced the Prince’s teachings of draining mana, to stabilize the withdrawal symptoms. But Vridiel wouldn’t. He refused.”

He shut his eyes. “I pleaded, I begged. But he wouldn’t. He said it wasn’t  _ healthy _ , that it was obvious now, our dependence on arcane energy, that Kael’thas’ solution was temporary, and  _ wrong. _ ” He stared at the table when he opened his eyes again. “He, like others that refused, were banished. He left for Dalaran. We kept in contact at first, discreetly. But when he learned I didn’t just feed off fel energies, that I was becoming a warlock…”

“He disapproved.” She let her arms fall.

“To put it lightly. We met up briefly in Northrend, during the campaign against the Lich King. It was...explosive. I was nearly banished from the city. We haven’t spoken since.” He glanced at her. “I made sure to spend as little time in Dalaran as possible.”

She finally took a seat across from him. “So why break the silence for me?”

A half smirk. “Not for you, no offence. He  _ is _ the best swordsmith I know. And for Felo’melorn...only the best will do.”

“Even if he’s a quel’dorei.”

“We were all quel’dorei once,” he repeated. “Having that...baseline, from when the sword was first forged, that legacy, isn’t a bad thing in this spellwork. He’ll represent the blade’s origins. I’ll represent its current allegiance and spiritual essence, and you-”

“I’ll represent the new bond being forged with both.”

“Exactly.”

She looked him over. “You made that up just now, didn’t you.”

He didn’t even appear sheepish as he shrugged. “Guilty.”

“You’re not so bad at lying to justify your actions.”

“Comes with being a warlock.”

“Or you’re just a jerk.”

“Bit of both, probably.”

That was one mystery solved. That still left the other. “And this Titansword?”

The warlock shook off the malaise he seemed to have and finally met her gaze again. “When you said you didn’t know what happened I asked around, to see if anyone knew. Apparently the leader of the Legion, a Fel Titan, wounded our world with a sword.”

It only took Alarissa a few minutes to put the rest together. “A Titansword, probably swollen with energies poisonous to our world.” At his nod, she leaned back in her seat. “Felo’melorn was used to...drain that essence?”

“With other legendary weapons. They barely succeeded. When it became nothing more than a common blade the archmage wielding it was generous enough to return it to us.”

“Will it still be the Flamestrike,” she couldn’t help but ask. “Nothing we’re doing will restore its fire powers.”

That earned a smirk from her companion. “Fire, as it happens, is my specialty.” He tilted his head, the wreath of flames glowing brighter for a moment. “I’m picking up that component tomorrow.”

She let out a long breath. “And then the day after tomorrow, we reforge a legend.”

_ No pressure, _ she added silently. She  _ could _ do this. She  _ could. _

* * *

Alarissa was worried that, with their history, there would be a tense atmosphere that could throw her off for the reforging effort. However, once Vridiel arrived and set his mind to the task, whatever awkwardness was between the two men vanished. Or at least, it was shelved away for later. Both were utterly focused on restoring the royal blade. 

“I probably shouldn’t have specified that we’re ‘borrowing’ these components,” Rashnu said right before they were ready to begin. “Based on our final review, the materials will likely be expended by the magical energies.”

Vridiel shifted the position of the small quenching pool a bit closer to the ghost anvil. “We should also be on alert when I add this.” He pulled a small bauble from his pouch, inside of which was a piece of what appeared to be liquid metal, shifting through the entire gradient of a rainbow with little form but, even from a few feet away, she could sense it emitting great power.

Rashnu sucked in a breath. “Is that  _ Titan’s Essence?” _

“If my calculations are right, your concoction mimicking the Well of Eternity will still be short of the power requirements of the scrolls. But with this smelted into the blade, it should amplify the effects of the water tenfold.”

“It could also simply eat through the blade and evaporate.”

Vridiel shrugged. “That’s a risk. But this entire effort-”

“Is a risk,” Alarissa finished. “So do we go through with it?”

There was a silent moment of communion between the former cousins, then both nodded at her. 

Rashnu set his staff outside the door. Vridriel grasped the hilt of Felo’melorn in one hand and the skyforge hammer in the other. Alarissa stretched her arms to either side and opened the observatory. It would be dawn shortly, the rays of the sun striking the anvil while the sacred constellation hovered on the opposite horizon, awaiting her command. 

With a guttural, draconic word from Vridriel the makeshift forge of arcane crystals erupted in blue flame. He thrust the blade in. Took it out. Hammered. Thrust it back in. Each time it seemed a bit of the mystical fire was actually  _ absorbed _ into the metal. She lost count of the number of times, but when he was satisfied, he started a quiet chant. The Titan’s Essence was poured over the blade and melded in. 

The entire blade gave off a burst of chromatic essence. When thrust into the flames, even they changed, from royal blue, to green, to purple, to a sharp red… On and on, until they finally resettled on blue. 

She caught both Rashnu and Vridiel untensing when the blade was pulled out, an unearthly sheen but otherwise still as whole as it had been before. The blade steamed as it rested in the waters of Hyjal for a minute, and when it laid upon the anvil again, Vridiel nodded a second time. 

Rashnu added the essence of the Sunwell to the quenching waters. It turned a golden hue that filled Alarissa with warmth. The warlock’s smirk softened to a smile, and even Vridiel seemed to relax at its aura. 

Then Vridiel began chanting again, this time in words lost even to the shal’dorei. The hammer in his hand started glowing with an ethereal light, and each strike seemed to make the sword less and less solid. Alarissa joined in with her own incantations, reaching to the stars, to the sacred constellation. 

Nothing happened at first, not until the blade was quenched momentarily. When he struck next, a star shot from the sky and landed with the echoed clang of the weapon. The next strike with a star was like thunder. And the one after that, and the one after that. She could tell they were all suffering, but she just grit her teeth and continued, as did Vridiel. 

When the last star fell, it wasn’t just with a shattering crash, it was a blinding light that knocked her to her knees. She had to blink multiple times to get her vision back, terrified that the final strike had disrupted everything. 

When she could finally focus on the anvil, on Vridiel, she found him not only being held up by Rashnu, but the warlock steadying his arms. A series of strange purple sigils was wrapped and woven all around the sin’dorei, including a crown behind his head. Some sort of mystic armor that must have protected him from the disruptive final strike. 

As she got back to her feet, she saw the blade had stars embedded in it, but there was still a hint of metal, not the ethereal blade of the final product. Only a couple steps left now. 

Vridiel’s shoulders shifted and Rashnu stepped back and went to the forge. Through the ringing in her ears, she could just barely hear his voice. Lyrical but harsh, and it seemed the arcane fires within the crystals responded. The flames that had helped reforge the blade were now focused, their blue becoming nearly transparent in their incandescence. 

The chanting changed, and there was a new rhythm to the sin’dorei’s words. He reached up and plucked the gem floating above his head. The crown of fire broke apart as it floated between his palms. At his nod, Vridiel plunged the blade into the concentrated flames. 

The fire gem shattered, and wild, untamed elemental power  _ roared _ across the observatory, as loud as the thunder had been. With a twist of his fingers the roar transformed into a screech, and the essence of fire transformed into a flaming phoenix, which he hurled into the crystal forge. There was another explosion, of light, but this one was followed by an immediate sound of an implosion, of something being sucked away into nothing. 

There were no further flames in the forge, and with a quick pivot the sword was screaming out steam and sparks of arcane energy jumped into the air. 

This was it. Alarissa poured the essence of the Nightwell into the water and began the final incantation, her arcane tattoos bleeding light as she channeled her power. Rashnu, on the other side, was looking skyward, speaking in his own language the original spell that had helped form the blade in the first place. 

Vridiel had tossed the hammer aside and his own high elven words had caused the blade to begin floating above the now whirlpooling reservoir of water. There was an additional spell from him being overlaid onto the weapon, what she didn’t know, but it didn’t matter. They couldn’t stop, they couldn’t interrupt. This was it. She shut her eyes and  _ pushed _ with all of her arcane essence to ensure the spell was successful. 

The waters were drawn up to wrap around the blade into a great arcane cocoon, which flushed blue, then red, and then finally a great surge of power emanated from the blade, throwing all three elves to the very edges of the room with a piercing cry and the smell of burnt ozone. 

As the sun fully rose, the observatory walls folded together and left them in darkness. 

* * *

Though feeling completely depleted after the ordeal, Alarissa had enough strength to call out, “In’alah,” and the walls responded, illuminating the observatory. She spotted Rashnu and Vridiel sprawled across the room, the former shaking his head, the latter on his hands and knees. Pushing herself up, she saw the hammer, the anvil, even the crystal forge was gone. A quick twist and yes, the scrolls were still there, their edges singed, but the protective magics had done their job. 

“Anar’alah,” the warlock breathed out reverently. 

She turned back to see him still lying on the ground, eyes locked on the center of the room. She followed his gaze and let out a choked breath. 

The blade was beautiful--no,  _ magnificent. _ No wonder it had been thought worthy as a gift for Azshara.The blade was shorter than before, but where the wings had framed it, now they were part of the hilt, and seemed to hold it above a phoenix’s head. The blade  _ was  _ ethereal, the sacred constellation travelling down its center and through the wings. Beneath the wings and above the hilt was a small translucent sun with faux planets orbiting it. It was a burnished red that spoke of flame and, somehow, spilled blood. 

_ Wait… _ She pushed herself to her feet with an “oof” and scanned the scrolls. “Blue,” she said. 

“What,” Rashnu asked absently, still unmoving.

“The blade, it’s supposed to be blue.”

“That’d be the essence of the Firelands,” Vridiel said shakily. She saw he was on his feet and was eyeing the blade, with reverence like his cousin, but also with a critical eye. 

“I didn’t have any phoenix eggs, unfortunately.” Rashnu finally got to his own feet. “How’s it look?”

Vridiel glanced at Rashnu, frowned momentarily, but at the warlock’s nod, approached the blade. His hand hovered over the hilt a second, before wrapping his fingers over it firmly. He shuddered. “It’s stable,” he muttered and turned the weapon this way and that. “Blade is sharp, no imperfections. Nowhere near as powerful as it used to be, but definitely powerful.”

Rashnu whistled and waggled his fingers. Alarissa didn’t understand, but Vridiel seemed to as he readied himself, holding the blade defensively. There was a harsh word and sharp sigils carved in the air and then a trail of flame zoomed across the floor directly to the blacksmith. 

Who swept the blade and cut the flames in half before absorbing them into the red-tinged constellation. 

The two men shared a smirk, looking exceptionally similar, before Vridiel turned and approached her, lifting the blade so it rested against his palm and he could hold it out to her. “Felo’melorn, reforged in,” he thought a moment, “the Star’s Design.”

She carefully touched the hilt and lifted the weapon itself. It was no longer dead, its power perhaps no more than that of Rashnu’s staff. But it  _ was _ reforged, stronger, she could feel it. Perhaps over time it would regain what it had lost, based on the principles of elven blades. “Thank you,” she said sincerely. “I will see to it your name is known among both peoples for this legendary work.”

He seemed to flush at that and bowed. Actually bowed to her. “It was an honor to be a part of such an endeavor.”

“Yes,” Rashnu echoed, Legionterror back in his hand, “thank you for listening to Lady Liadrin. This was…” he wiped sweat from his forehead, now free of flames, “it was amazing.”

Vridiel eyed the weapon one last time, then straightened. “I should be returning. There are those in Dalaran who will be seeking me.”

“I’ll escort you,” Rashnu said, tone far more friendly than it had been mere days before. 

“Thank you.” 

“And you,” Rashnu called over his shoulder as he walked Vridiel out of the observatory, “good luck with the First Arcanist...Astromancer Alarissa.”

She stood a little taller as they left. Yes, she  _ was _ an astromancer, a true one. And this sword would only be the beginning of her efforts to reconnect with her sin’dorei cousins. Her, and all her people. If the effort with Felo’melorn was any indication, they had a magnificent future today. 


End file.
